


I Could Be Yours (Your Girlfriend)

by AwkwardGhost_1782



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: (?), Alcohol, Crack, Excessive use of italics, Getting Together, Girlfriend by Avril Lavagne is its own warning, I did not intend this to be this my first Fic in this fandom I swear, Implied Sexual Content, Karaoke, M/M, Pining, Please don’t take this seriously, Rated T for Trashmouth, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardGhost_1782/pseuds/AwkwardGhost_1782
Summary: The one in which Richie Tozier gets wasted, sings Karaoke, and accidentally ruins a marriage.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	I Could Be Yours (Your Girlfriend)

Richie would like to reiterate that he had been very, _very_ drunk. 

He had been on his (second, third, fifth, seventh…) twelfth shot of tequila when the idea had popped into the tiny peanut behind his fivehead he called brain. You see, in the year that had passed after _Derry 2: A Stupid Ass Clown Sequel,_ the Losers had not seen Eddie’s wife, Bootleg Sonia (also known Myra) once. She did not like going out much, and she most _definitely_ did not like The Losers either, so she avoided them like The Plague or any dirty park bench. That is until now. It is unknown How or Where or Why, but somehow Eddie managed to convince Knockoff Sonia to go to a Karaoke with all of them. Judging by her red face and pinched eyebrows Richie can guess Eddie sold the place _very_ differently for her to make a Once In A Lifetime appearance. None of the Losers were particularly happy with her and the rancid vibes she brought but they were certainly curious, in a morbid way, like when you look at your parent’s old sex tape. She had barely acknowledged them besides a short greeting and penis-shrinking glares every time anyone dared to even say “damn”. Richie didn’t like her, that was no secret, you could even say he hated her. But most of all he hated the way Eddie morphed around her. He wasn’t as loud, as snappy, as foul-mouthed (because regardless of what anyone said Eddie was the real Trashmouth here). Eddie is the type of person that finds fun in getting riled up, in having smoke blowing out of his ears and foaming at the mouth, even though he’d rather die than admit it, and Richie Loves that. Just like he Loves all of him. And seeing Rip-Off Sonia take that Fire and snuff it out like it’s nothing makes Richie burn like a bag of Takis. 

By the time Richie gets his Amazingly Stupid Idea, they are all long wasted, even Eddie who kept sneaking in shots every time the Sonia Look-Alike turned her back, and they had all sang at least one song at the tiny brightly lit stage (the image of Eddie singing Every Time We Touch would forever be engraved in Richie’s eyelids). But Richie was _not_ done, no sir. He was talking with Beverly about… something. Hard to tell. He had been staring at the back of Eddie’s head (he had a few gray hairs now, he noticed, here and there) for about seven (eight, nine, ten…) minutes. He was talking with Copy Paste Sonia and Richie _wished_ with every bone of his uncoordinated body that were him. That he was Eddie’s husband, that he got to go to sleep every night and wake up every morning by his side and make him laugh and— oh golly — _kiss_ him. So the one (1) functioning brain cell he had left came up with a plan, a _very_ stupid plan, a plan that should get all pining gay men prohibited from getting drunk near the secret love of their lives forever. He giggled stupidly to himself and with a half-assed excuse toward Beverly made his way to the sign-up sheet for the Karaoke.

This plan was absolutely Genius if you were to ask him. 

When they called his name from the stage The Losers looked at him amused, awaiting the next episode of Trashmouth Shenanigans. They were all in for a surprise. Especially Sonia’s Clone. _Especially_ Eddie.

He stumbled his way to the stage and grabbed the microphone with his sweaty hands, then turned to Eddie and (maybe a little too) loudly announced: “This is for Eddie Spaghetti!” 

Eddie flipped him off while a smile tugged to the corners of his mouth, and then the music started.

“Hey, hey, you, you! I don’t like your girlfriend!” He pointed straight at Sonia’s Unfortunate Sequel and Eddie _gaped_ beside her. Stan immediately spits out his drink and takes out his phone to, allegedly, record Richie in the midst of the stupidest thing he’s ever done, and that’s a hard list to beat.

“No way, no way! I think you need a new one!” He winks, because he fucking can, and sees Bill’s whole ass butt fall from the stool he was sitting at. Mike is possibly on the verge of tears. Richie takes this to mean he’s absolutely Killing It.

“Hey, hey, you, you! I can be your girlfriend!” Richie points at himself, because _duh,_ and the last thing he remembers from that night is a red-faced Eddie stomping toward him, smoke nearly blowing from his nostrils.

  
  


The next morning, Riche wants to die.

Not because of the Karaoke Showdown, but because he wakes up and his head feels like it was repeatedly whacked with a hammer, his mouth has apparently not seen a drop of water in years, and he immediately wants to throw up. Somehow, the bathroom trashcan is right besides the bed for him to stink which is very out of character for his Drunk Alter Ego (which is really just him but Stupider) but he’s too disgusting and dizzy to really put much thought into it. After maybe ten minutes of retching his entire stomach out he feels settled down enough that he wont die just from lifting his head. That’s when he notices the painkillers and water neatly left on his bedside table which is even _more_ out of character for his Drunk Alter Ego. Richie’s in pain and very fucking confused.

“What the fuck happened last night?” He grumbles. Maybe one of the Losers took him home and that’s why there’s, like, a whole ass self-care kit in his bedroom? (That’s what it is? Right?) It’s the only explanation he can come up with, but then his bedroom door opens and, well, he’s not exactly _wrong_.

Eddie’s standing there in his stupid expensive boxer briefs and Richie’s fucking neon Hawaiian shirt from last night like it’s a casual everyday occurrence and Richie physically doesn’t have the brainpower to even begin to process the sight in front of him.

“What the fuck happened last night?” He repeats, more confusion than pain this time. 

Eddie sips his coffee (Richie can’t see it but he knows its black, because Eddie is one edgy motherfucker). “You mean besides wrecking my marriage?” And _that’s_ when Richie notices the clear lack of a marriage ring that had _just_ been there last night and the— oh shit, are those really— scratch marks beginning at his shoulders and presumably going down the expanse of his back.

Eddie raises one eyebrow because he’s got them stupid genetics and Richie’s absolutely positive he must have died of alcohol poisoning last night.

“Oh what the _fuck_.”

Almost as if he can’t help himself any longer Eddie snorts a laugh and says “I guess you’re my girlfriend now, dickhead.” 


End file.
